


B is for Blown

by Marzipan77



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alphabet Soup Challenge, Barber is the only canon character mentioned, Episode: s04e18 The Light, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Off-World, Pre-Episode, SG5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Daniel and SG5 explore a Goa'uld palace by the sea. A little. Something feels off - until it doesn't. How did the addictive mechanism affect Daniel and the team before Barber's death? Prompt fill: The Light: Daniel's mission to the P4X-347 with SG-5 before the episode.





	B is for Blown

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to fignewton for letting me play in this sandbox long after the challenge was over.

B is for Blown

For the Off-Screen Missions Alphabet Soup  
Prompt: The Light: Daniel's mission to the P4X-347 with SG-5

Day #3 – P4X-347

It was the sharp pain in Daniel's neck that awakened him. He blinked dry eyes and then rubbed both thumbs across the crusty lashes. His mouth tasted like Teal'c's dirty socks after a particularly sandy mission. He swept his tongue across his teeth and grimaced. Or maybe after his sole experience on an undergrad bender back in Chicago.

"Unh." He straightened, wincing as his cervical spine popped. Where had he fallen asleep this time? The flat, cold surface under his butt told him it wasn't at his desk – that and the utter and complete lack of light. His heart raced. Captured? Stuck in a cave-in? Hiding from Goa'uld?

Daniel felt along the wall he'd been resting against with one hand, reaching for his radio with the other. No radio. No vest. No jacket. He was in his t-shirt and the chill he felt wasn't entirely physical. Heh, he thought to himself, at least he had his pants on. On that relieved note, his mind caught up with his questing hand. Nope, not a wall. His fingers drifted around the wide curve of the … pillar? Column? Was he in a temple? Where –

He shivered, his memory finally kicking in. SG5. A strange Goa'uld dialect. That unbelievable lightshow. Okay. That was okay. He sat back against the pillar, shoulders slumping. He drew up his knees, another realization lifting his eyebrows. He wiggled his toes. Bare toes. What the heck was he doing abandoning radio and pack and boots, for crying out loud, on an off-world mission? His right hand went to his hip – still had his weapon. One point for distracted linguists. He glanced around – at the total darkness – and decided to feel around with his feet instead. Notebooks. Video camera. They'd be closest. His pack and vest had to be … ah. Daniel leaned down and dragged the vest and boots-yes! - closer. Mission accomplished!

Dragging socks and boots on over his freezing toes, Daniel tried to remember falling asleep. He'd never been so grateful to be the SGC's designated go-to-guy for on-the-spot translation when SG5's MALP sent its images through to the SGC. The language was everywhere – the pillars, the walls, in tiny groupings along the edges of doorways, across the pedestal that held the Stargate. The gorgeous light-show was fascinating – unbelievable – enough, but the draw of finding a new language, of figuring out the way the Goa'uld had twisted the ancient Egyptian language throughout the millennia, tracing how the written words had changed based on time and spatial distances – that was what stoked Daniel's inner fires.

The rest of SG5 had lingered around the lights, as his old friend Sarah used to say, gob smacked. Daniel had been distracted by a line of text that the light had illuminated and had followed the Goa'uld words into this chamber sometime yesterday – or the day before, maybe. He left Colonel Franks and his team to get on with clearing the building and reconnoitering outside, the grunt-work, as Jack liked to call it. "Let the military guys do the grunt-work, Daniel. That's not your job on these side-jaunts. But," Daniel remembered the pointed finger waggling in the air not far from his face, "keep your radio close and, please, try not to get lost in the translation work, huh? Coming back alive is your first priority."

He smiled. Yes, Daniel had to get the rest of SG-1 out here to see the lights. His smile faded. Jack wouldn't be caught dead on a research mission like this one – not unless Daniel could promise some honking big space guns. Teal'c was not a big fan of Goa'uld history. But, Sam… he might just get her to come through, if only to check out how the physics of that lightshow worked, how they projected the effects, to make it seem as if the lights were dripping down the walls. He mentally ticked off the status of his ongoing wagers with Jack. He was up $20 – he could afford it.

Daniel patted the floor around him and came up with his glasses. "Not much use in the pitch black," he muttered.

The barely voiced words prompted an unexpected response. Low-level lighting began to glow from the base and capital of each column in the chamber. "Cool." Eyes widening, Daniel scrambled to his knees. "So, the light is voice activated." A reassuring golden gleam seemed to answer him. Good thing Jack wasn't here – that snore would keep the lights on all night.

"Hello – ack." His dusty throat reminded Daniel that more talking would have to wait. He spied his canteen – and his jacket and pack and vest, thank goodness – and grabbed it, tilting the warmish water into his mouth. Only one mouthful was left. He shook the canteen back and forth as if that would make the water level rise. Shrugging, Daniel drank the rest of his water. He'd load back up back in the Gate Room before he started trying to decipher the language again. Dragging himself to his feet he shuffled towards the doorway. Hopefully there'd be coffee.

Daniel frowned and set his hand on his weapon. Was that – it sounded like footsteps from the dark hallway behind him. "Hello? Franks? Barber?" No response.

The familiar heavy tread of boots sounded from the direction of the Gate Room and Daniel turned back into the light. 

"Jackson? See, I told you he'd show up as soon as the coffee was done."

Daniel sniffed. Oh, yeah. He hurried down the hallway, the furtive sounds behind him forgotten. "Don't drink it all before I get there, Barber," he warned.

After Daniel had commiserated with his first cup of coffee and managed to chew and swallow half of his breakfast MRE, he glanced around at the others. Colonel Franks was frowning at Lieutenant Sehgal who was sporting a nasty bump on her chin. Barber and Okumba were comparing notes about something that happened last night as far as he could figure out. Something about watches? 

Daniel set the half-masticated 'meal' in his lap. "Hey, no one called me for watch." He pressed his lips together. "There was no reason for any of you to double up, I'm perfectly capable of taking my share. It's not like Jack lets me get away without pulling my weight."

Dean Barber and Denny Okumba glanced at their leader from beneath half-lowered eyelids.

Franks' jaw worked for a few seconds. "To tell you the truth, Jackson, we're not sure what happened. After we'd checked in with the SGC, we headed out to investigate some of the other rooms in this place but, after that," he shook his head, "none of us remember exactly how but we all ended up in that light room when we woke up this morning."

The colonel's frustration was obvious in the lines creasing his forehead, his stiff shoulders, and the nervous tapping of his fingers. "Sehgal here took a hit she doesn't remember, and Okumba's got a slice right through his jacket that creased his arm. No one's going anywhere until we get some explanations."

Okumba must have discarded his jacket. Now that the caffeine had hit his system, Daniel noticed the stark white bandage wrapped around the lieutenant's upper arm. 

"Anything to report, Jackson?"

Daniel peered up at the colonel. "Nothing." He rubbed at the back of his aching neck. "I'd been working on capturing the writing on camera and had begun some notes on diacritical markings and origins and I guess I fell asleep. I did find out that the lights in the chamber are not motion sensitive, but voice activated. They came on when I spoke out loud this morning."

"I noticed that, too." Anat Sehgal was prodding the bump on her chin with gentle fingers. "Honestly, sir, I think I fell asleep and bumped my chin on the pedestal I was standing in front of in the light room. The lightshow was off when I woke up. My, um, exclamation turned on the regular lights and I woke you others."

Daniel glanced around at the other sheepish expressions. "So, you were all in the light room when you woke up. And you don't remember getting there, or why you went?"

Franks' frown grew deeper. For a second, Daniel thought he might descend into Jack O'Neill-type barking. Trained SGC personnel did not, by nature or training, suddenly get it into their heads to ignore orders and watch the pretty lights. "All right, finish up here, people. After I check in with base, we're going to thoroughly – and I do mean thoroughly – check this place out. Every nook and cranny. Doctor Jackson, please join Sehgal and Barber. I promise to get you back to your studies ASAP."

"No problem." Daniel knew the drill. Jack and General Hammond had promised him a week before he'd need to return to normal duties with SG1. He could afford to spend the morning in his soldier-guise if it made Franks feel better about their little mysteries.

"Hey, Jackson, catch."

Daniel dropped his mug and fumbled the oblong metal device. "Hey!"

Barber ducked his head, but the idiot was smiling. "Sorry. Found this in the light room when I woke up." He shrugged. "No writing that I could see, but I thought you might want to fiddle with it."

His irritation at the rough handling of the alien device – not to mention the wasted last drops of his coffee – Daniel turned the fist-sized device over and over in his hands as he got to his feet. "I'll get my vest and meet you two back here before we head out," he murmured over his shoulder, brushing his fingers over the surface. Back in the room he'd settled on as the center of his research, he shoved the device in his pack, shrugged on his vest and tightened his boot laces.

Two hours later, the three of them – as well as Franks and Okumba, reporting by radio – had found a lot of empty rooms, dust, what might have been a Goa'uld dormitory, and a wide, sandy horizon outside the creaking, rusty, heavy-as-crap outer doors.

Break time brought them all back to the Gate Room. Daniel propped himself up against the large crates the SGC had sent through with supplies. He sipped fresh coffee as he toyed with Barber's device. Nothing he touched seemed to make a difference – there were no helpful glowing lights or compartments that he could figure out. 

"Okay, Jackson, you're released. We'll rendezvous back here for lunch at 13:00. And, no, I won't show up to drag you here if you decide to work straight through."

Daniel grinned at the colonel. "Good. I'm glad that funny little memo of Jack's about babysitting his archaeologist hasn't gotten around the entire SGC. Yet." He shoved some power bars into his pack, refilled his canteen and his coffee cup, and tossed the device back to Barber. "Here. Save this for Sam."

Hurrying back to his research, Daniel thought he heard the hum of the lightshow from the end of the hall. Maybe the thing was on a timer? Head down, he jogged away. Translation time. He stopped inside the doorway of the large, pillared hall. "Oh, yeah. Definitely Daniel Disneyland."

Day #4 - P4X-347

It was the sharp pain in Daniel's neck that awakened him. He blinked dry eyes and then rubbed both thumbs across the crusty lashes. His mouth tasted like Teal'c's dirty socks after a particularly sandy mission. He swept his tongue across his teeth and grimaced. Or maybe after his sole experience on an undergrad bender back in Chicago.

"Unh." He straightened, wincing as his cervical spine popped. Where had he fallen asleep this time? The flat, cold surface under his butt told him it wasn't at his desk – that and the utter and complete lack of light. Okay. Maybe there had been a power outage at his apartment. Nothing new there.

Daniel felt along the wall he'd been resting against with one hand, reaching out in front of him with the other. Nowhere in his apartment should be this dark – not even in the middle of the night. Too many windows. Unless he'd fallen asleep in the john – had he and the team been out for dinner? He shook his head. Even a lightweight like Daniel shouldn't be hugging the porcelain throne without a damned good reason. He let his questing hand fall into his lap. BDUs. He was wearing BDUs. T-shirt and jacket. No vest. No weapons belt. Where –

His mind caught up with his still-questing hand. Not a wall. His fingers drifted around the wide curve of the … pillar? Column? Was he in a temple? Where –

Riiiight, he thought to himself. He was here with SG5 to translate a strange Goa'uld dialect. That unbelievable lightshow. Okay. That was okay. Daniel leaned back against the pillar, letting his eyes fall shut again. The lights would come on when he spoke. He flopped his feet back and forth, wiggling his toes. He hummed, relieved that Franks had kept his word about leaving Daniel alone with his studies, not dragging him away to meals and breaks and check-ins. He made a rude noise, and a rosy glow grew against his eyelids. Maybe he should transfer to SG5. To Franks. At least he'd get the peace and quiet he needed to puzzle out languages and tricks and, well, puzzles.

Nah. He'd miss Sam's sciency chatter. And Teal'c's loom – that guy was great at looming. And Jack's sarcasm. There were too few military types who understood the fine art of sarcasm and insult like Jack O'Neill did. Wait, didn't Jack owe him money? Their last bet was … on that planet with the purple ferns – Jack had said Teal'c wouldn't believe Daniel if he claimed he recognized the ferns from Abydos as an aphrodisiac. Huh. Daniel had won that one easily – Teal'c was always a sucker for Daniel's earnest explorer rants. He'd caught the Jaffa stuffing a handful of the scratchy plants into his backpack later that day and Jack had rolled his eyes and handed over the money.

Of course, when caught, Teal'c had explained that he had collected them for Janet – hoping that certain aging colonels could use them when the time came.

Daniel sighed, sinking back into the column. Okay, he rubbed at the back of his neck, not a good idea. Whatever the thing was made out of was not conducive to cuddling. He puffed out a breath and got to his feet. "Good morning, campers!" he sing-songed in his best O'Neill voice. As expected, the lights brightened. He glanced down at the video camera and notebooks, empty power bar wrappers, vest and weapons belt, his canteen – open and, he guessed, empty - lying nearby. He collected the necessities – canteen, coffee cup, socks – and headed towards the door. The others should be just starting the coffee.

"… getting used to waking up in that stupid light-show room."

Daniel absentmindedly waved to the room while bee-lining it towards the coffeepot. Dean was crouched beside the camp stove and filled Daniel's cup when he held it out. 

"Have you had any real food in the last two days, Daniel?" the lieutenant smiled up at him.

"Mmmm," Daniel replied, drinking, "not sure." He shrugged. "What is 'real food,' anyway? Not those MREs you all seem to love."

"Don't you know that archaeologists live on coffee, chocolate, and the scent of new languages?" Denny was leaning back on his elbows, watching his team with a half-asleep look on his face. "That's what I've heard."

Daniel considered while he held out his cup for a refill. "You're not altogether wrong," he admitted. His stomach gurgled, loud and clear in the quiet room. Each member of SG5 froze for a second before breaking down into loud guffaws.

"Well, another country heard from," Daniel muttered, giving his gut his best glare. "Food it is!" He threw up his hands before accepting a filled plate from a giggling Anat. As soon as the first taste of eggs touched his tongue, Daniel realized he was ravenous and finished the entire plate as well as seconds.

Swallowing the last bite, Daniel tore his eyes from his plate. "Light-show out again?"

Denny shrugged. "Every night so far. We figure it's on some kind of timer or it needs to recharge or something. Either that or there's some invisible dude wandering around in here turning off all the lights and tucking us in when we're out."

"Yeah, that's likely," Anat said, nudging Denny's shoulder. She crossed her legs and twisted to grab the odd gadget they'd been passing back and forth all week from her pack. "This always seems to end up right on top of the pedestal."

"Weird," Daniel replied. "So –" he clapped his hands together. "Is it my turn to check in? I can't remember who dialed out yesterday." He looked at Franks for a reply, but the colonel was face down in one of the bigger chests, sorting through the provisions. 

One hand waved behind his back. "Go ahead, Daniel. All clear. No surprises. Send more coffee because you drank it all. The usual."

"Oh and ask them for some fresh fruit and veggies – if we're stuck here much longer, we're all going to get scurvy." Dean grimaced.

"Hang on," Daniel fished a small notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and jotted down the requests. "Coffee, fruit, veggies –" he squinted down at the page. "Huh. Something already written here. Oh!" He clicked his fingers. "I need my notebooks from PS4-818. The carvings on the stele there might shed some light on this dialect. And copies."

The silent stares of SG5 prodded Daniel into looking up. "What?"

"You said 'copies,'" Dean prompted. "Copies of what?"

"Of the tapes." Daniel blinked – hadn't he said that? "Someone should take my video tapes back to the SGC and get them copied so Teal'c and the other linguists can start their own research." He gestured between himself and the Stargate. "We can compare notes."

Franks stood upright, the last two mac and cheese MREs clutched in his hands. "Barber can go."

Dean opened his mouth to object and then closed it. His dark expression and grimace told Daniel that Dean had just remembered that was his commanding officer speaking. Daniel hid a grin behind his notebook. Dean glared. Daniel smiled sweetly back.

Dean turned a drowned puppy look on Anat.

"Not it." She stuck one finger on her nose.

Denny quickly followed suit, looking lost but willing to follow his teammate's lead. "Me neither."

"Fine," Dean sighed dramatically. He stood and dusted off the back of his pants. "How long do you think the copying and requisitions will take, sir?"

Franks slid the MREs into his pack and shouldered it. "They'll probably make you stay 24 hours and get a half-dozen needle pricks from Doc Frasier. You'll survive, Lieutenant." He headed off into the palace, Sehgal and Okumba scrambling to follow.

"Write when you find work," Denny shot over his shoulder.

"Hilarious," Dean shouted back. He gathered up his socks and boots and stuffed his feet into them, barely lacing them. It took him a few minutes to find his pack and his vest, but by the time Daniel had finished his third – third? Fourth? Fourth. Fourth cup of coffee, he was suited up and ready. "Let's get this over with."

Daniel was already dialing. "Chevron Seven locked!" he stated. Grinning, he hurried over to the MALP camera, rehearsing what message he'd leave for Sam and how he'd let Jack know that the next wager was on without Hammond catching on to their little game.

Day #5 - P4X-347

It was the sharp pain in Daniel's neck that awakened him. He blinked dry eyes and then rubbed both thumbs across the crusty lashes. His mouth tasted like Teal'c's dirty socks after a particularly sandy mission. He swept his tongue across his teeth and grimaced. Or maybe after his sole experience on an undergrad bender back in Chicago.

"Unh." He straightened, wincing as his cervical spine popped. Where had he fallen asleep this time? The flat, cold surface under his butt told him it wasn't at his desk – that and the utter and complete lack of light. Weird. It didn't feel like Jack's lumpy couch either. Off-world? Sam's futon? A chuckle bubbled in his chest. Sam's guest room could almost be classified as off-world, if you asked him. 

Daniel felt along the wall he'd been resting against with one hand, reaching down to the floor on the other side with the other. He was a little cold, maybe the blanket had fallen off. He frowned. Nope. No blanket. No couch. No futon. Just a smooth, cold floor. Eyebrows rising, he realized he was wearing BDUs. Well, pants, anyway. Thank goodness for that. No radio. No vest. No jacket. He was in his t-shirt and the chill he felt wasn't entirely physical. With a slow slide into awareness, his mind caught up with his questing hands. Nope, not a wall. His fingers drifted around the wide curve of the … pillar? Column? Was he in a temple? Where –

"This all seems oddly familiar," he announced into the blackness, nodding when the lights on the columns glowed. He drew in his feet, shaking his head at the mess he'd made last night. Chocolate wrappers. Empty chip bags. No less than four notebooks lying open, detailed drawings giving way to scribbled notes up and down and sideways. His canteen had been thrust, upside down, into his boot. "I sure hope that was empty," he muttered.

Something shiny poked out from beneath a pair of discarded socks. He scooted across the floor, shoving trash out of his way, and plucked it up. "Aha!" The oval-shaped gizmo Denny kept finding in the light-show room. He frowned – lying underneath were two pages torn from a notebook covered with his own writing. "Significant," he read out loud. "Tied to some unseen mechanism." He dropped the device into his lap and read over the rest of his scrawl. First test – lights, no result. Second test – doors, no result. Third test – Stargate, no result. Hm. It seemed he'd given up after the third test. Wait -. He felt something. He turned the device over and ran the sensitive pads of his fingers across a raised line of … something. 

Daniel tossed his glasses on the floor and brought the gizmo closer. Tiny images. No, letters. Numbers. Yes, numbers. He grabbed the closest notebook and pen and began careful notes.

"Hey, Daniel!"

Blinking, Daniel raised his head, cradling the device against his chest. "Denny. What's up?"

The tall SG5 lieutenant leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. "You are, obviously. We thought you'd be back for coffee hours ago."

_Coffee_. Daniel's brain switched over with an almost audible clank. "Yes. Did you bring some? Please?"

Denny laughed and stood straight. "Too late my sleepy friend. The colonel wants us all spit-shined and ready to go in twenty."

"Go? Go where?" Daniel didn't want to go anywhere. Not now. He wasn't finished. He'd barely even started.

"SGC dialed in. We're to report back there, ASAP." His lips twitched into a sardonic half-smile. "This cushy assignment couldn't last forever, I guess."

"But – no!" Daniel leapt to his feet. Thankfully, Denny reached out and steadied him when his head spun, and his legs reminded him that he'd been sitting in one position too long. "Thanks. But I've got so much to do." He gestured around at the columns, the notebooks, the walls and walls of writing. "I've got to stay. Tell Jack I've got to stay. Oh!" He clutched the other man's arm. "And Sam! Sam has to come!"

"You tell him," Denny laughed. "Franks said that Hammond was grim this morning on check-in. No arguments, no discussions. Believe me, we all feel the same, Daniel."

"Well, can we come back?"

"Above my pay-grade." He took his hands from Daniel's shoulders and waited to see if the archaeologist would collapse. "C'mon, I'll help you clean up here." When Daniel didn't move to help him, he turned back. "At least you've got your tapes. Maybe someone at the SGC can help you with the translations while we're there."

Daniel sighed. "I suppose. I only hope that Dean made the copies and distributed them to the right people." 

"Feel free to tell the guy off if he didn't."

"Oh, I will," Daniel agreed. Shoulders slumped, he trudged around the chamber, shoving things haphazardly into his pack. At the last minute, he decided to bring the little gizmo along. His temper lightened as he took one last look around. "Jack will understand. And Hammond. They'll let me come back and figure this out. Good men. Smart," he murmured to himself. He turned to follow Denny back towards the Stargate. "I swear, if Barber told them anything to make them think this is dangerous or not important, I'm gonna kill him."

"You and me both, Doc."


End file.
